


Take a Chance, Make a Change

by cassie_black



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hd_holidays, Getting Together, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 03:18:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8187559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassie_black/pseuds/cassie_black
Summary: It was Hermione's nagging that sent Harry to Desirable Dwellings.  It was Draco Malfoy that kept him coming back.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Hex Files](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Hex_Files), which was closed for financial and health reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Hex Files collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thehexfiles/profile).

**Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

** Take a Chance, Make a Change **

Harry Potter rarely questioned his decisions: he ran on instinct, went with his gut. But at 8 o' clock on Friday night, he smelt like a mixture of vomit, sweat, and disinfectant – Cleaning Charms were only so effective – and it was enough to cause at least a small part of his brain to doubt the wisdom of becoming a Healer.

"You look like shit, Potter." Blaise Zabini, long-time acquaintance, and more recently colleague and friend, slammed his locker door shut with rather more force than necessary as he spoke.

"You come and see me after you've done a fifteen-hour shift, been puked on by no less than three patients, and groped by a rather frisky old woman, and then we'll see who looks like shit." Harry tugged a clean T-shirt over his head and then eyeballed his friend. "Tough day pushing pencils in the office, was it?"

"Yes, as it happens." Blaise smirked in a familiar, maddening fashion. "Busy working out the department budgets for the next financial year. So unless you want me to accidentally drop a nought off the end of yours, you'd better be nice."

Harry balled up his dirty scrubs and threw them in the nearest laundry bin. "I barely have the energy to breathe right now – I think being nice might be a stretch too far."

"So there's no point in asking if you're up for a drink then?" Blaise leant casually back against the lockers as he spoke. The expression on his face was hopeful, but this was one time Harry had no qualms about disappointing.

"No point whatsoever." Harry crammed his feet into his trainers – untying the laces required far too much effort. "The only plans I have for this evening involve pyjamas and a duvet. And not even your scintillating company is enough to persuade me otherwise."

"Ah well, you'll get enough of that tomorrow night. You're still going to the Ministry Ball, aren't you?"

Harry wasn't so tired that he didn't grimace at the reminder. "Like I have a choice? Hermione'd drag me there kicking and screaming if I dared to suggest otherwise. A bit like Pansy would with you," he added, with a faint smirk.

"Ah, but I get rewards from the lovely Pansy that you couldn't hope to get from Granger."

"Weasley," Harry corrected for what felt like the millionth time. "And, given some of the more choice tales I've heard of yours and Pansy's exploits, I should bloody well hope not."

"Don't knock it until you've tried it." Blaise pushed away from the lockers, a smirk firmly in place.

Harry was too busy muttering under his breath to pay it much heed. Getting his feet in his trainers without actually undoing them first was proving to be more challenging than he had the energy to deal with right at that moment. In the end he was forced to bend down and leverage the squashed heel from under his foot, or face hobbling home. Though, judging from the twinge of protest his back gave when he finally straightened up, that was still a distinct possibility.

"Fuck!"

"All right there, old man?" Blaise gave Harry a rather weighty pat on the shoulder that, once again, his back objected to.

"Just a bit stiff." Harry rolled his shoulders and arched his back tentatively. He couldn't hide his wince at the cracking noise that followed.

Blaise arched his eyebrows in response but remained silent.

"I'm fine." Blaise didn't need to speak for Harry to know what he was thinking. "You try lifting patients all day and then see how your back feels."

"They're called levitation spells for a reason, Harry." Blaise inspected his fingernails casually before adding, "And we both know that if anything's causing you to move like an old man, it's that horrendous contraption you insist on sleeping on."

Harry shut his locker with a slam that rivalled Blaise's earlier one. "Can we not have this conversation now? I really don't have the energy to go over this again."

Blaise held up his hands in a placating fashion. "I don't want to argue," he said. "I'm just saying that if you got yourself a proper bed, then your back probably wouldn't feel like a troll had been tap dancing on it."

Harry allowed the smallest of smiles to grace his lips at that mental image, before replying, "I don't have the room for a proper bed. You know that."

There was a moment's pause where Blaise's smirk grew wider, and Harry mentally kicked himself for walking right into a trap. 

"So I do," Blaise agreed eventually. "Well, I guess that just means you'll have to find somewhere to live that _does_ have enough room, won't you?"

"Blaise —"

"Just swallow your pride and go and see Draco." Blaise dug in his pocket and produced a small shiny square of cardboard, which he pressed into Harry's reluctant hand. "He'll sort you out."

Blaise didn't wait around to see whether Harry kept the card or not. With a quick farewell, he grabbed his coat and headed out of the locker room. Harry remained where he was for a long moment, staring down at the business card in his hand. If he hadn't been so exhausted he would have laughed at the irony of Blaise's parting words – because, based on what he'd observed recently, Harry would very much like for Draco Malfoy to _sort him out_ , but he was fairly sure he and Blaise had a different interpretation of the phrase.

**********

"Oof!"

Draco Malfoy tumbled out of the Floo with none of his usual grace. Flailing slightly before retaining his balance, he glanced around quickly to make sure no one had seen. 

Satisfied his momentary lapse of dignity had gone unnoticed, he pulled his shoulders back and settled his robes into place with well-practised fingers.

And not a moment too soon either.

"Oh, Draco, darling, there you are. I was beginning to think something dreadful had happened to you."

Draco knew his mother had thought no such thing. It was just her discreet way of chastising his lateness _and_ disapproving of his need to work at the same time.

"My apologies, Mother." Draco stepped forward and leant in to kiss her cheek. "I was unavoidably detained on a matter of urgent business." He'd actually met Greg in the Leaky for a swift drink after work which had promptly turned into several – but business _had_ been discussed, so Narcissa need never know. At least, she wouldn't if the breath-freshening charm that Draco had employed earlier did its job.

Narcissa _hmmed_ disapprovingly but didn't probe further. "I do hope you didn't keep Astoria there until this hour? Not tonight of all nights."

Draco unclasped his cloak, slipped it off his shoulders, and then offered his mother his free arm. "Don't worry. I sent her home in plenty of time to prepare for this evening's festivities."

"She's so looking forward to it," Narcissa said as she placed her hand on Draco's arm and let him escort her from the room.

Draco restrained the words on the tip of his tongue. Astoria had talked about nothing for days, to the point that Draco had almost Silenced her – but nothing good would come of sharing _that_ nugget of information with his mother. So he settled for a noncommittal "Indeed." Then, when it became apparent that more was required of him, he added, "If Astoria is to be believed, I'm sure I shall be the envy of every man in the room – escorting two such beautiful ladies."

Narcissa patted his arm and smiled brightly at this. Draco knew he was laying it on a bit thick and, from the look in her eyes, so did his mother. But it never hurt to flatter her vanity every once in a while. Especially since his plans for the evening consisted of squiring his mother and her _protégée_ around the Minister's latest charity ball.

A house-elf appeared as they entered the main hall, and relieved Draco of his cloak. While the small creature fussed with the folds of fabric, Draco finally noted his mother's attire. Elegant as always – indeed, Narcissa Malfoy was never anything but – however, there was a certain glamour missing from the ensemble. Dressed more for afternoon tea with friends, rather than showing the wizarding world they couldn't _keep the Malfoys down_.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready?" Draco asked, and prayed he hadn't got it wrong. "I was given to understand that the ball started at eight."

Narcissa let out what was undoubtedly supposed to be a nervous laugh, but Draco knew his mother of old, and was certain it was anything but. "I don't think I'll be able to accompany you this evening, I'm afraid, darling. I have the beginnings of a dreadful headache." She pressed her hand to her forehead in the style of many a melodramatic Muggle film heroine – Draco would have laughed if it wasn't for the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach telling him what was coming next.

"That's a shame," he said, as casually as he could manage. "I know how much you were looking forward to it."

"I was," Narcissa agreed, "but it can't be helped. I think I shall take a potion and then retire to my chambers."

"Good idea," Draco replied. "I shall Floo Astoria and give her the bad news. She'll be disappointed, but I'm sure she'll understand."

"There's no need to do that, surely?" Narcissa turned to face him, eyes wide with an innocence Draco knew had no place on her face at that moment. "I wouldn't want you to miss all the fun on my account."

"Really, Mother, it's no problem."

If Draco thought he was getting out of it that easily, he was much mistaken – after all, he'd learnt the art of manipulation from somewhere, and it hadn't been his father.

"But Astoria will be so disappointed."

"I'm sure she'll understand." Possibly the biggest lie Draco had told in some time – he knew quite well Astoria would be anything _but_ understanding.

"But you said yourself how much she was looking forward to it." Narcissa stopped then, in a dramatic fashion Draco recognised all too well. She gave a shake of her head, followed by a pained wince, and Draco knew all was lost. "No," she continued, "I just can't bear to think of that dear girl let down so. I shall take a potion and hope for the best. I should still be able to get ready in time if I hurry."

If there was one thing his experiences during the war had taught Draco, it was to pick his battles wisely. Giving in gracefully still posed something of a challenge, though.

"No, Mother," he said through slightly gritted teeth. "There's no need for that. You just rest this evening and I will accompany Astoria as planned."

Narcissa's face brightened instantly – almost a glint of triumph in her eyes. Draco was moved to wonder if she actually thought him ignorant of her machinations. If so, either advancing years were taking their toll on his mother's sharpness, or he was getting really good at masking his emotions.

"You're such a good son to me. I don't know what I'd do without you." Narcissa leant in and pecked a dry kiss to Draco's cheek. "I'm sure the two of you will have much more fun without me chaperoning."

Draco just smiled in response – he found he couldn't quite come up with an appropriate lie in time.

Narcissa clasped her hands together, still smiling brightly. "I think _I_ shall retire for the evening, and _you_ really should start getting yourself ready. Astoria is expecting you at eight."

Draco nodded in acknowledgement. "Goodnight then," he said, already mentally planning how long he would have to stay at this godforsaken function before he could make his excuses – after all, his mother's supposed ill health would make the perfect cover.

Narcissa took her leave then, only to come to a halt at the foot of the stairs. "And don't hurry home on my account."

It was said pleasantly enough but, after twenty-five years of experience, Draco knew the warning was implicit. Obviously his mother's senses weren't as dulled as he'd thought.

**********

Harry took a deep gulp of his drink and then set the glass firmly down on the bar. At least the burning sensation in his throat temporarily distracted him from the horror of his situation.

Of course, the trouble with temporary was that it was over all too soon, and not even the sour aftertaste of his Firewhisky could alter the fact that he was currently living one of his own personal nightmares.

Directly after the war Harry had felt compelled to attend a ridiculous amount of Ministry functions – he'd felt it was a small price to pay to honour those who had paid the ultimate one. But no matter how many years had passed, the level of public scrutiny he was forced to endure on such occasions never lessened any, and experience had made him no more comfortable with it.

It wasn't so much guilt that compelled him to attend now, as it was Hermione. She had made some long, passioned speech – which Harry had only partly listened to – about how he was still a beacon of hope for many, especially as the post-war world had failed to herald the brave new order most had hoped for. Harry rather thought that working eighty-hour weeks at St Mungo's was him doing more than his part for the wizarding world – Hermione, apparently, begged to differ.

So he went, made nice with various dignitaries, smiled for the photographers while shaking hands with the Minister, and then, once the festivities began, he would retreat to the well-stocked bar at the rear and sample their wares for as long as he could. The beauty of attending without a partner was that he wasn't required to spend the best part of the evening embarrassing himself on the dance floor.

"Hiding again, Potter?"

Harry started forward in surprise as a hand landed heavily on his shoulders. His senses were already a little blurred from the night's alcohol intake, so it took a moment for him to recognise the voice.

"Blaise," he said finally, shifting slightly to smile at his friend. "Can I get you a drink?"

Blaise gestured vaguely with his hand, causing amber liquid to slosh dangerously close to the rim of the glass he held. He paid no heed and continued to smile at Harry in the manner of one who had already imbibed a fair few drinks previously.

Harry was hardly one to judge, however.

"I'm surprised to see you here. Shouldn't you be out there," Harry nodded in the direction of the busy dance floor, "tripping the light fantastic with the lovely Miss Parkinson?"

"Taking a well-earned break," Blaise replied. "Pansy's gone to powder her nose, so I thought I'd drop by and say hello." He patted his hand on Harry's shoulder again – a bit more gently this time. "Had a feeling I'd find you here."

Harry smiled wryly – it didn't exactly take psychic abilities to locate him at one of these functions. "Hello yourself," he said, before taking another sip of his drink. "Having fun?"

Blaise shrugged with affected nonchalance. "You know me, any excuse to get dressed up. Besides, the brownie points this will earn me with Pansy later are more than worth the effort." Blaise finished up with a distinct leer which left Harry in no doubt as to his meaning.

But then, Harry knew Blaise of old now, and had already been subjected to numerous and increasingly graphic details of his love life. So he held up a hand in warning. "Please spare me the details; I'd actually like to be able to sleep tonight."

"Details of what?"

Both Blaise and Harry started this time, and the amber liquid finally made it over the rim of Blaise's glass.

"Merlin, Draco! Give a bloke a heart attack, why don't you?" Blaise raised his hand to his mouth and promptly lapped up his spillage; Harry tried his hardest not to look at or appreciate the action.

"Malfoy," Harry said in acknowledgment and followed it up with a brief nod. He kept his tone as neutral as he could manage, and was pleased to hear not the slightest hint of a slur. 

Malfoy turned slowly to face him – or, at least, it felt like an age to Harry. His mouth stretched in a smile that was warmer than any expression he had ever directed at Harry before. "Potter. Nice to see you. Didn't think this was your sort of thing."

"Not exactly." Harry snorted in amusement. Then, casting his gaze around them, asked, "Is your mother with you?" 

After she'd saved his life, Harry had struck up an acquaintance with Narcissa Malfoy that most, himself included on more trying days, found difficult to understand. On the surface they had absolutely nothing in common, but Harry had, over the years, developed a grudging respect for the woman who had risked everything to protect her family. 

Draco leant forward and placed his glass on the bar alongside Harry's. "Sadly not. She was feeling a little under the weather."

"Nothing serious, I hope?" Harry asked. Malfoy's tone and expression didn't indicate that this was the case, but after years of making small talk at these functions, the question was practically a reflex.

Whatever response Harry had expected, the laugh that followed was something of a surprise. Not least because of the bitter edge to it. "Definitely _not_ serious," Draco answered finally, and Harry didn't miss the quick glance exchanged between him and Blaise.

Harry made a mental note to probe Blaise further about that when they were alone – Blaise was possibly the biggest gossip he knew and, with a few more drinks inside him, Harry knew he'd get his answers in no time. So instead, he said, "Give her my regards." Malfoy agreed that he would, and just like that Harry found himself exchanging pleasantries with Draco Malfoy.

It shouldn't be that surprising, Harry supposed – things had changed manifestly since Hogwarts.

After the war and Harry's defence of Malfoy at trial, the two of them had parted ways on reasonable terms. Not friends by any stretch of the imagination, but two people matured sufficiently by what had gone before that they were, at the very least, able to hold a civil conversation.

Though stilted at first, Harry found that the alcohol had loosened his inhibitions _and_ his tongue sufficiently to smooth the way for him – and Malfoy had never knowingly been at a loss for something to say. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Blaise watching them in amusement, but ignored him for the time being in favour of discussing the upcoming Wizengamot election with Malfoy.

Ten minutes later, the conversation had warmed up, and Harry found himself surprised at just what easy company Malfoy was. There had been the first signs of change in his character during the trials, but the man in front of Harry now bore little resemblance, other than visual, to the spoilt bully he had once despised.

It occurred to Harry that he wouldn't mind doing this again, and he made a mental note to suggest that Blaise brought Malfoy along with him on their next night out. After all, if he'd managed to become good friends with one ex-Slytherin, why should it be such a surprise that he might possibly do it with another?

Of course, the fact that it was Draco Malfoy did change things a little – Harry wasn't stupid enough to forget that – but school had finished a long time ago and they had both grown up since then, so Harry really didn't see why it should be an issue. Ron would very likely think otherwise, Harry was certain of that. But he was also equally certain that Hermione would take care of any temper tantrums that arose in that area.

Somewhere in the midst of a conversation about Harry's work and Malfoy's new business, Blaise cleared his throat loudly – as if to remind them of his presence.

"All right there, Blaise?" Malfoy asked, while Harry took a moment to suppress the brief flash of irritation he felt at being interrupted. 

"Absolutely wonderful," Blaise said, and he grinned as if blissfully unaware of what he'd done. "I was just wondering where Astoria is?"

The smile appeared to freeze on Malfoy's face. "She's over there somewhere," he said, and gave a negligent wave of his hand in the direction of the dance floor. "Last time I saw her she was discussing wedding dress styles with Daphne, so I made a hasty exit."

Harry felt his stomach lurch for a moment before he remembered reading about Daphne Greengrass's engagement in the _Prophet_. 

"With any luck Pansy will bump into them on the way back, and I can get a few more of these in before she drags me back on the dance floor." Blaise waved his glass in front of him to illustrate the point.

"What about you, Potter?" Malfoy turned his attention back to Harry.

"Me?" Harry asked, not fully understanding the question.

"Yes," Malfoy said, almost patiently. "You. Where's the lovely lady who accompanied you this evening? "

"Oh." Harry wasn't sure why he felt a little flustered by the question, but he did, nonetheless. In an effort to stall, he took a sip of his drink.

"Well?" Malfoy prodded.

"Um, I came on my own," Harry admitted finally, and, despite the fact it had been very much his own choice, Harry bristled at the prospect of Malfoy thinking otherwise.

"I'd have thought you'd have women queuing up to be seen on the arm of the great Harry Potter." 

"Harry doesn't like to bring dates," Blaise answered for him. "Thinks they'll make him dance."

Malfoy grinned then, and Harry just knew he was thinking back to the Yule Ball. "Ah, I take it your skills haven't improved any, then?" he asked, and Harry found himself fascinated with the way his right eyebrow rose with the question.

"Oh, Draco, there you are." Harry watched as a pretty blonde woman sidled up to Malfoy and took hold of his arm as if clinging for dear life. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Not lost," Draco replied, "just catching up with friends."

The woman turned to smile at Blaise, but her expression froze when it landed on Harry. He could hardly blame her, Harry supposed. The idea of Draco Malfoy describing Harry Potter as an _old friend_ was something to be wondered at. Her smile, when it came, was hardly radiating warmth.

"You promised we would dance, but I've barely seen you all evening."

Her tone sounded affected and girlish, or at least it did to Harry's ears, and he found himself irrationally irritated by it. Malfoy appeared not to mind though, because he smiled indulgently and patted her hand on his arm.

"And we will," he said. "But not right now. I'm talking to Blaise and..." Malfoy paused then for a moment and frowned a little. "My apologies," he said after a moment. "Potter, I don't believe you've been introduced to Astoria Greengrass – her elder sister, Daphne, was in our year at Hogwarts."

Harry had had a vague idea of who the blonde woman was – he'd seen her out and about with Draco and his mother several times – but he'd drawn a blank in coming up with a name. "Lovely to meet you," he said instinctively, and, as the manners he'd been _taught_ after the war kicked in, he leant forward in a half bow as he took her offered hand.

Unfortunately, the stiffness in his back that had been plaguing him for days chose this moment to make its presence felt, and he couldn't quite hide the wince as he straightened up.

"Are you okay, Potter? You look like you're in pain?"

Normally Harry would have been grateful to hear concern in the voice of his erstwhile rival, but at that point Blaise opened his mouth and Harry realised he'd been given just the opportunity he'd been looking for.

"You'd be in pain too if you slept on a fold-up bed like this one." Blaise gestured in Harry's direction as he spoke, but his attention was on Malfoy.

"A fold-up bed?"

It was Astoria rather than Malfoy that repeated Blaise's words incredulously, but they both wore expressions of confusion, and try as he might Harry couldn't keep the flush of embarrassment off his face.

"Just one question," Malfoy said after a moment's pause. "Why?"

If possible, Harry's cheeks burned brighter. Which was ridiculous, really. All of his friends knew how he lived and yet, despite their numerous comments on it, he'd never felt embarrassed before, so why it should suddenly bother him now was a mystery. Maybe it was because of what Malfoy did for a living, or because Astoria was watching him, distaste clear on her pretty face, or maybe it was something else altogether... he just didn't know. 

"Because he lives in a flat that's approximately the size of a Chocolate Frog card." Blaise answered for Harry again, his expression and tone tinged with smug satisfaction. 

"It's not that bad," Harry muttered defensively, but the glare he shot his friend was weak at best.

" _Yes_ , it is," Blaise said firmly. "And you know it."

Malfoy, who had been watching the conversation with interest, now dug into his pocket and produced what Harry recognised on sight as being one of his business cards. "You should come and see me at the office," he said, holding the card out.

Harry took it, because it would have been rude to do otherwise. "I'll think about it." He tried his hardest to sound disinterested, because Blaise's crowing would have been unbearable, but curiosity if nothing else told Harry he'd be doing just that very soon.

"Draco." Apparently tired of being ignored, Astoria tugged slightly on Malfoy's arm. "I adore this song; dance with me."

Without waiting for much in the way of response, or offering a goodbye, she turned then and began to lead Malfoy across the room.

Malfoy, for his part, turned back and flashed an apologetic expression at Harry and Blaise, before adding, "I'm serious, Potter. Call my office; we'll sort you out."

Harry watched the retreating figure of Draco Malfoy as he crossed the dance floor and tried, once again, not to think of all the ways in which he wouldn't mind being _sorted out_.

**********

"I don't know why everyone makes such a fuss about him. He's nothing special, not any more."

Draco looked up from his mound of paperwork finally. He'd been trying his best to tune Astoria out for the better part of the morning, but it appeared that she had something she wanted to get out and wasn't going to give up until he listened.

He reached for the steaming coffee she had just settled on his desk and smiled gratefully. "Who?" Not that he really cared, but the fresh caffeine hit was making him feel benevolent.

"Harry Potter," Astoria enunciated as if Draco were a bit simple. She set a plate of Draco's favourite biscuits down by his right hand before continuing, "I never saw what all the fuss was about him back in Hogwarts, and I still don't now."

Draco took a sip of his coffee and smacked his lips contentedly. Then he smiled at his assistant over the rim of the cup. "No, dark, handsome heroes of the wizarding world aren't really your type, are they?" And considering the object of Astoria's current affections was a blond ex-Death Eater, Draco thought that was rather the understatement of the year.

"It takes a lot more than an _Expelliarmus_ to impress me," Astoria said primly, as she straightened up the various papers on Draco's desk.

"Mmm," was all Draco said in response. Memories of that night tended to evoke memories of a particular broom ride, and somehow he doubted Astoria would appreciate him reminiscing. He took another sip of his coffee and sighed his satisfaction through the steam. "What brought this on, anyway?"

Astoria picked up a pile of papers from the desk and shuffled them into order against its surface. "Oh, he Floo-called earlier to set up appointment."

Draco choked on his next mouthful of coffee – it was definitely not as pleasant in the other direction. "Potter made an appointment? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm telling you now," Astoria replied, her face a picture of confusion.

Not that Draco was paying much attention. He pushed back from his desk, got to his feet, and ran one hand through his hair in agitation. Of course he _wanted_ Potter as a client. Apart from the opportunity it would give him to get to know the man behind the enigma, having the wizarding world's Saviour on his books would do wonders for his business. But their brief encounter at the recent Ministry ball was the most interaction they had had since Draco's trial, and he couldn't quite work out if the twisting in his stomach was nerves or anticipation.

"When is he due?" Draco came to a sudden halt as the question occurred to him. He needed to prepare – mentally and work-wise. 

"Did you know Harry Potter was in reception?" Pansy never troubled herself with such niceties as knocking, and she sailed into the room as if she owned it. Which, Draco supposed, she did, partly.

Draco spun round with such alacrity that he set a pile of booklets tumbling to the floor off his desk. Astoria dropped to her knees immediately and began gathering them. Draco, however, was too busy staring at the new arrival to pay it any heed.

"He's out there right now?" Draco asked, somewhat redundantly given that he already knew the answer.

"Large as life," Pansy said. "Blaise told me he was coming to see you, so I thought I'd come and lend some moral support, protect my investment."

"You're supposed to be a silent partner." Draco took a deep breath and tried not to think of all the ways this could go horribly wrong now that Pansy was involved. 

"And I will be," she said, perching herself on the edge of Draco's desk. "As quiet as a mouse. Now, you just scoot back behind your desk, and I'll go and see to our Saviour."

Astoria set the rescued booklets back on the desk with a slam and fixed Pansy with a glare. Draco watched in amusement, because if Astoria thought she could out-bitch Pansy, well, she was _very_ much mistaken.

"Why don't you pop out and get us some lunch?" Pansy smiled sweetly at Astoria as she spoke, completely unfazed by the glare. "I'm feeling a bit peckish."

Astoria's gaze flicked to Draco immediately as she began her protest. "I don't think—"

"That new deli next to Ollivanders does the most divine chicken salad," Pansy continued, talking right over Astoria's objections. "We'll manage while you're gone, won't we, Draco?"

Draco was far from sure that anything would be _managed_ with Pansy at the helm, but Potter was outside, and he was feeling nervous enough as it was without Astoria flitting round under his feet. And she had seemed uncommonly rude to Potter at the ball, so maybe it was best if she went.

"Fine," he said eventually through gritted teeth. He passed Astoria a handful of coins which she took begrudgingly. "But if you blow this —"

Pansy's laugh cut off the remainder of Draco's words. "Oh, I have no intention of blowing anything," she said, and pretended to wipe tears from her eyes. "But, from what I hear, he wouldn't be averse if you wanted to."

The exclamation of disgust was followed by the slamming of the door behind Astoria as she left the office. Pansy laughed some more, clearly satisfied with her afternoon's work. Draco was not similarly impressed.

"Thank you for that." He rubbed his face wearily with one hand. "She'll be hell to work with for days now. And if she tells my mother, then —"

"Then neither of them should be surprised in the slightest," Pansy cut in. "Considering you've already made your preference for blowing things explicitly clear to both of them, I'm not sure what the problem is."

Draco walked back behind his desk and sank into chair with a sigh. He winced when the slamming of the outer door echoed through the room and announced Astoria's departure from the building.

"I don't know why you employed her," Pansy said bluntly. "You should have just told your mother no for once."

"Pans, you've met my mother. You know what she's like. She isn't going to let a little fact like me being gay get in the way of her dreams of Astoria and I providing her with numerous blond-haired grandchildren." Draco shook his head as he realised just how messed up that sounded. "And Astoria... Astoria is —"

"Deluded," Pansy said, in a tone that brooked no dissent. 

"Yes, well, that's as maybe," Draco replied evenly. "But we have more important things to worry about right now. Why don't you show Potter in and I'll see if I can't salvage something out of this day."

Pansy opened her mouth as if to protest Draco giving her orders, but then shut it just as quickly. "Fine," she said, her tone begrudging. "But don't fuck this up."

Draco tugged on the cuffs of his shirt before turning a cool expression on her. "Pansy, I don't need you to tell me how important this is. Landing Potter could be the making of this business, so I have no intention of fucking anything up."

Pansy watched him silently for a moment, and Draco could have sworn he heard her say "more's the pity," as the door closed behind her.


	2. Part One

As he sat in the reception – empty reception, he amended - of _Desirable Dwellings_ , Harry couldn't help but wonder what the hell he was doing there. He'd withstood criticism of his living arrangements for years, and honestly, although an actual bed would be nice after a long shift at St Mungo's, Harry genuinely didn't mind his flat. Yes, it was compact, a little on the basic side, but it had everything he needed – room for the aforementioned bed notwithstanding.

Just as he was making his mind up to make a sharp exit before anyone spotted him there, the door banged open and Pansy Parkinson swept into the room. 

Harry held his breath for a moment. While relations between him and Malfoy had most definitely thawed in a post-war world, things between him and Parkinson stood very much as they had in Hogwarts. Not because he held any grudge in particular, but just because they didn't move in the same circles, so had managed to go the last six years or so without having to interact.

Only apparently it was just Harry who felt the awkwardness of the moment, because while he held his breath from the tension, she just smiled brightly, issued a cheerful "Morning, Potter" and disappeared into the office beyond.

Harry let out his breath and rubbed wearily at his face. 

If it wasn't for Andromeda's recently-voiced concerns about how unsuitable Harry's flat was for Teddy to spend nights, he would be at home right now, tucked up in bed, sleeping off the incredibly long and hectic shift he had just endured.

But Andromeda _had_ said them, and Hermione had made similar noises about Rose and Hugo, and as much as Harry didn't want to move, hadn't the time for such distractions, he wasn't sure he had very much choice, given the alternatives.

His thoughts were interrupted by the bang of yet another door opening. Only this time it was the office door that burst open, and it wasn't Pansy Parkinson, but Astoria Greengrass who emerged. And the look she gave Harry was arctic in comparison to Pansy's. 

Harry really was having second thoughts now. Pansy's appearance followed by Astoria's angry departure had him wondering if he wandered into the middle of some kind of love triangle row. Malfoy and Parkinson had definitely been _close_ in school, and he was rarely to be seen apart from Astoria now.

Harry wondered if Blaise knew, or even if he was involved, because if Ron was to be believed then Slytherins had been into that sort of thing way back in eighth year. Thoughts of Ron immediately led him to thoughts of Hermione, and he could hear her telling him to stop being so dramatic, that friends had arguments occasionally and it didn't automatically mean they were practising _free love_.

Any further thoughts in such areas were interrupted by the office door opening once again. Pansy Parkinson emerged once more, and though her smile was a little less bright on this occasion it was still very much there nonetheless. 

"Draco will see you now," she said pleasantly. "Can I get you anything before you go in? Tea? Coffee?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm fine, thank you." He'd drunk more than enough cups of strong, almost treacle-like coffee over the last fourteen hours in an effort to stay awake. Any more caffeine inside him and there was no way he was sleeping anytime soon.

Parkinson just nodded. "Okay. Well, you can go through then." She gestured in the direction of the office door with a wave of her hand and then settled herself behind the vacant desk and watched him.

Harry smiled tentatively in return, then got to his feet. It was ridiculous – he had faced and defeated the most dangerous wizard of their age, but for some reason, crossing that threshold into Draco Malfoy's office had his palms sweating in a way that not even the toughest of his NEWTs had.

But there were beady eyes watching him, so Harry took a steadying breath, pulled back his shoulders and strode towards the door with more outward bravery than he felt.

"Potter."

His name was called just as Harry's hand came to rest on the door handle. He paused and turned to face the source of it. "Yes?"

Parkinson was casually filing her nails when Harry looked. But she stopped for a moment and raised her eyes to meet his. "He doesn't bite, you know? Draco, I mean."

Harry nodded – too embarrassed that his nerves were that obvious to form a response.

"Not unless you ask very nicely," Parkinson added. And suddenly, what was on the other side of the door became of a lot less concern to Harry than what was on this one. He turned the handle without further word and entered.

"Potter. Good to see you." Malfoy stood up behind his desk, hand extended in greeting.

Harry crossed the room, nerves suddenly dissipated, and grasped his hand in a warm shake. "Thank you for seeing me."

Malfoy gestured to an empty chair. "Have a seat," he said, and suited his own actions to the words. "I must admit I'm a little surprised to see you here. From the way Blaise spoke you seemed determined to remain where you are."

Harry settled himself in the offered chair and gave a wry smile. "I might have had a bit of help changing my mind."

Malfoy laughed then, and Harry couldn't help but think what a nice sound it was. The only time he'd heard Malfoy laugh back at school, it had been a hard, mocking sort of sound, usually directed at someone's misfortune. But now it was a warm, soothing sound.

"Believe me, I know how that goes," Malfoy said, as he leant forward, hands clasped in front of him on the desk. "There's no one more skilled in the art of _gentle persuasion_ than my mother."

Having met and conversed with Narcissa Malfoy on numerous occasions now, Harry didn't doubt the truth of this statement. 

"So, how about I explain a little about how this works, and then we can get an idea of what sort of property you're looking for?"

Harry nodded. "Okay." But he didn't hold out much hope for Malfoy's success – he'd given that subject a lot of thought over the last few days and was still no closer to knowing the answer.

"We're more than just your typical estate agency, here at _Desirable Dwellings_."

Harry smiled at the name – he just couldn't help himself.

Malfoy noticed, and simply said "gentle persuasion," as if that explained everything. And as Harry grinned in response, he thought it probably did.

"Anyway," Malfoy continued, his expression turning a little more serious. "As I was saying, we do things a little bit differently here than you might be expecting." He paused, reached into a drawer at the side of him and removed a large binder which he placed on the desk. "We have numerous properties on our books – both Wizarding and Muggle – which obviously we'll have you look through. But we will also actively seek out your ideal house. Some of our most successful sales have been with properties that weren't even on the market at the time."

Harry couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the previous occupants of those houses – he had a fleeting vision of Malfoy, wand in hand, chasing them off the premises. 

"So, why don't we start by getting an idea of what it is you're looking for?" Malfoy smiled expectantly as he looked at Harry.

Harry, for his part, had no idea. All he knew was that everyone was telling him his current flat was far too small, so he said, "Bigger, I guess." But he didn't exactly sound convinced.

Malfoy's expression remained patient though. "So, a bigger flat maybe? Or were you looking for a house? Somewhere with a garden?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted reluctantly. "I've never really given it any thought."

"Okay." Malfoy nodded. "That's not as uncommon as you'd think. And we have ways around that."

"You do?" 

"Of course." Malfoy's expression was a little satisfied. "I told you we work differently here."

Harry shifted forward in his seat until he was perched towards the edge. "So how do you, do _we_ get around it then?"

Malfoy leant to the side and once more opened his desk drawer. This time he produced a large, familiar-looking stone bowl. "I've developed a technique that utilises a mixture of Legilimency and Pensieves. Only instead of extracting your memories, it will seek out your desires, aspirations – anything that will give me a better idea of the most suitable property for you."

Harry sat back in his chair now, hands gripped firmly on the arms. "No," he said. "I'm not... I don't want anyone messing around in my head."

"I promise anything I learn will remain strictly between us – I have a very firm policy on client confidentiality."

Harry could sense the shift in Malfoy's tone and it was plain he had been offended by the refusal. "I'm sorry," Harry said, raking one hand through his hair in his unease. "It's nothing personal, I promise you. But I'm just not comfortable with doing that."

"Okay," Malfoy said, but some of the confidence seemed to have oozed out of him. "We can work around that, I'm sure."

But he didn't sound convinced, and Harry wasn't either. "How?"

Malfoy didn't respond for a moment, but when he did, the smile returned full force. "I'll just have to get to know you, a _lot_ better. Then once I've got a firm grasp of you, we can start looking at properties."

"Okay." Harry nodded his agreement and struggled to stop his mind conjuring images at the thought of Malfoy's grasping him firmly. "Only, I'm working days for the next couple of weeks, so it might be difficult."

Malfoy frowned a little as he flipped through the diary in front of him. "We'll just have to do it outside of office hours then, won't we?" He paused then, frown deepening. "If that's all right with you, that is?"

"Sure," Harry replied quickly – eager to agree since he'd rejected Malfoy's other suggestions so forcefully. "I'd invite you round to mine but I'm told it's not exactly suited for entertaining."

Malfoy smiled at that. "So I hear. And we'd never get a minute's peace from my mother if I took you to the Manor. Fortunately I happen to know a very nice restaurant we can go to. It's in Muggle London so we won't be bothered."

Harry's stomach twisted pleasantly at the thought of dinner with Malfoy. Even though there was nothing between them – Merlin, they were barely friends – it was a long time since he'd had such an attractive dinner companion. "Won't Astoria mind?" Harry wasn't sure the question sounded as innocent out loud as he'd planned it to, but he couldn't help himself from fishing.

"Astoria?" Malfoy seemed nonplussed. "It's after hours; she wouldn't have to join us."

"Oh, I see." Harry was sure his voice was a little higher than usual – apparently feigning innocence was not his strong suit. "It's just that you two work together, socialise together... I just thought..."

Draco snorted softly at this. "If it was left to Mother, she'd have us living together too."

And that settled that, Harry told himself. At least now he knew how things stood with Malfoy, and he could focus on finding himself a house rather than a boyfriend. At least he'd have his godchildren for company occasionally.

**********

As Draco sat alone waiting for Harry to arrive, he found himself unaccountably nervous. His opinions on Muggles in general had changed substantially over the years, but he still felt ill at ease in their world – however nice their restaurants were.

He was, however, a fan of the crisp notes bearing their Queen's head. Draco currently had a handful of them tucked neatly inside his wallet, much lighter than a pouch full of coins. In fact, so strong was his approval that he had been lobbying both Gringotts and the Ministry for quite some time for Galleon notes at the very least. If for no other reason than the fact a pocketful of weighty coins did nothing for the line of a good suit.

Draco fiddled with the cutlery set out in front of him, and cast a silent prayer to whomever was listening that Potter would turn up. There was no real reason that he wouldn't - it wasn't like it was a date, despite Pansy's teasing and the wistful little voice at the back of his mind. But still, Draco would have felt much more at ease if only they could have arrived together.

But Potter was at work, or he had been until a short while ago, and Draco could only imagine the amount of wagging tongues that would be set off if he had met Potter at the end of his shift. Astoria was only just over her last Potter-related snit – she'd be unbearable if he induced another one so soon.

Draco shook his head even as that thought occurred to him. It was ridiculous. He was completely and irrefutably gay – something both his mother and Astoria knew, yet chose to ignore. Draco might not have draped himself in a rainbow flag and marched through the streets, but by the same token he'd never made any secret of his preferences. One day he knew he'd have to ruffle their feathers substantially, but right now he preferred to take the path of least resistance – at least till he had someone worthwhile enduring all that fuss over.

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor pulled Draco from his musings. He looked up and found Potter smiling down at him. And damn, if Potter didn't look like he should be on the menu himself. Not as formally dressed as Draco by any stretch, but the trousers fit in all the right places, and Draco's fingers itched to see if that jumper was as soft as it looked.

"Sorry I'm late." Potter sank himself down into the vacant chair with a sigh of relief. "We had a last-minute emergency."

"Don't mention it," Draco replied, and took the menu offered him by the hovering waiter.

Potter took one for himself and flashed the waiter a smile that almost made Draco jealous. After a moment's silence, he spoke. "So..."

It took Draco a moment to realise that Potter was prompting him. In his defence, he had been exceedingly distracted by the way Potter's tongue flicked out to wet his lips. "So," Draco repeated, buying himself a moment to get his brain under control. He settled the menu on the table in front of him and then leant forward. "I'm curious, Potter. What prompted you to become a Healer? I always had you pegged as an Auror."

Potter nodded. "So did I, for a long time. But I just... I guess by the time the war was over I felt like I'd done my share of the fighting. Besides, I'd have a permanent target painted on my back, wouldn't I? Every half-baked villain would be lining up to take a shot at _the great Harry Potter_."

Draco nodded along but remained silent. He didn't want to discourage Potter from talking further, and he wasn't disappointed.

"I didn't have any choice _but_ to fight then." Potter's voice dropped a notch when he said this, and Draco could feel the sadness that tinged his tone. "But now I do," he continued. "And I choose something different."

Draco wanted to throttle the waiter as he appeared at the end of their table again, pen tapping officiously at the pad in his hand. The conversation came to an abrupt halt as Potter glanced sheepishly at the still-unopened menu in front of him. 

"What d'you recommend?"

Draco barely had to glance at the menu himself – he'd dined here with Pansy on several occasions. "They do an excellent filet mignon," he advised, then, turning to the waiter, added, "I'll take mine rare."

"I'll have one of those as well," Potter said without further hesitation. "Only make mine well done, please."

"Philistine," Draco accused as the waiter gathered up the menus. 

Potter just sat back in his chair and smiled, clearly not fazed by Draco's remark. "So what about you?" he asked. "I'm pretty sure you didn't want to be an Estate Agent in school."

"Well no, hardly." Draco resisted the temptation to point out that he'd already been the one thing he wanted to be in school, and all that had left him with was a tarnished name and an unattractive scar on his arm. It was certainly true, but he rather felt it would bring the mood of the evening down. 

"So how did you get into it?"

"I didn't plan to," Draco said, before taking a sip of his water. "After the war there were a lot of pureblood families who couldn't afford the upkeep on their homes anymore – supporting Voldemort didn't come cheap." 

"And all the fines as well," Potter said, nodding sagely.

"Indeed." The Malfoys themselves had escaped such punitive punishments, but only because Lucius had been forced to _donate_ a substantial sum in order to avoid imprisonment. Their coffers, however, were deeper than most. "Anyway, they had these large, expensive homes to run that they could no longer afford, but no way of removing the burden. Pure-bloods inherited property – they had no idea how to sell it. That's where I came in."

"I'm impressed." And Potter's expression seemed to back up his words.

"I can't take all the credit," Draco replied. "Pansy helped out a lot in the beginning. And her investment meant I didn't have to ask my parents for money."

"Are you two still close?"

Draco nodded. "Yes. Not quite as close as we were in school, you understand."

A grin lit up Potter's face at that. "No, I can see Astoria wouldn't like that."

Draco let out a bark of laughter. "You don't know the half of it," he said, shaking his head slowly. Then, after a beat, added, "So, have you had any thoughts on houses?"

Potter's smile faded a little and he shrugged. "I've tried," he said. "But every time I think of something that I want, something else occurs to me that changes my mind. It's like every positive has a negative, and I can't decide."

The despondent expression on Potter's face made Draco's insides flip in a way he would never admit to. "It's not that uncommon to think like that," he reassured. "Buying a home is a big step – it's only natural that you want to get it right."

"I suppose." Potter did _not_ sound convinced.

"Well, let's start with the basics." Draco was determined to make some progress this evening – having Harry Potter on the books was no good for business if he couldn't find him a property. "You need more space, right? So how many bedrooms?"

"Two," Potter said decisively as he snapped a breadstick in half. "One for me, and then a spare one for Teddy, or Rose and Hugo if they stay over."

"Okay, two bedrooms," Draco repeated. "See," he said, and smiled encouragingly, "we're getting somewhere."

Potter didn't reply instantly – too busy crunching dried bread. "Maybe a third bedroom would be good though," he said after a moment. "I could use it as a study or something?"

"All right, we can do that." Draco snagged a napkin off the table and, producing a pen from his pocket with a flourish, proceeded to make notes.

"I see you came prepared," Potter said, smile firmly back in place.

The fact that he was being teased, actually _teased_ by Harry Potter, was something that Draco filed away for examination later. For now, what he said was, "Hush, you."

Further conversation was stalled for a moment by the return of their waiter bearing food. He settled the plates down in front of them, before fixing Draco and his napkin with a disapproving glare. As if that wasn't bad enough, the flirtatious smile that he shot Potter upon his departure was a further deduction in his tip as far as Draco was concerned.

"What about a kitchen?" Draco asked, as soon as they were alone again.

"A kitchen?" Potter had clearly lost the thread of their conversation if the crease of his brow was anything to go by.

"Yes, a kitchen." Draco was rather proud of his patient tone – normally a lack of attention had him bristling within seconds. And given that the guilty party was Harry Potter, of all people, it was doubly surprising he managed it. "Would you like a modern style or something more rustic? One with space for a table to eat at, or would you prefer a separate dining room?"

Potter paused – fork full of food midway between table and mouth. "I'd like one with a table in," he said, more decisively than he had been at any part of the proceedings so far. "It reminds me of Grimmauld Place."

Potter said the last part rather more softly, and Draco wasn't entirely sure he was meant to hear it. But he had rather vague memories of the property from his childhood, and from the occasional photograph of his mother's. "So are you thinking of a period property? Something classic, but with character?"

Potter gave that infernal shrug of his again. "Not necessarily. I just don't see myself doing much formal entertaining."

"Right." Draco picked up his pen and scratched a few more notes on the napkin. It wasn't much, but at least they were making some progress. "Now, how about the bathroom? Are you a bath or a shower person?"

Draco was almost certain he saw the faintest hint of a flush on Potter's cheeks – but the dim lighting in the restaurant prevented him from confirming it. He didn't reply straight away, preferring instead to sample the crushed potatoes adorning his plate.

When Potter finally swallowed, Draco was so distracted by the bob of his Adam's apple that he nearly missed the answer.

"Both, I think. I mean, I've always wanted one of those big walk-in showers. But sometimes after a sixteen-hour shift, you just want to soak in the tub, you know?"

Draco had never worked a shift of that length, and, given that he was his own boss, had no intention of ever doing so, but still he nodded, and added _both_ on the napkin next to 'bathroom'. 

"Malfoy, you should eat. Your food's getting cold."

Draco made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "It's fine. I used a Warming Charm on it." He paused then and took a deep breath, aware of the shock his next words could present. "And it's Draco."

Potter looked up – the shock Draco had anticipated written all over his face. "Draco," he repeated slowly, almost as if the words felt foreign to him. 

Draco feigned a nonchalance he definitely didn't feel. "Yes. I think we're at that point now."

It was a very content Draco Malfoy that Flooed home to the Manor at the end of the evening. Not only had they made progress in identifying Harry's _dream home_ , but hearing Harry Potter address him as Draco for the first time had given him a thrill that was far greater than even his own vivid imaginings could have predicted.

What Draco wanted to do was slip into his comfortable bed and mull over the evening's events. He most definitely did _not_ want company. But, as with most of his life so far, what Draco wanted rarely came to pass. And perhaps the only saving grace was that it was Blaise who awaited him, rather than his mother.

"A little late for social calls, isn't it, Blaise?" Draco dusted nonexistent soot off his sleeves and affected his best nonchalant manner. 

Blaise, who was lounging on Draco's mother's best sofa in a manner that would draw her rather impressive wrath if she could see it, smiled lazily. "Anyone would think you aren't pleased to see me, Draco."

Draco gave his best _don't start with me_ look. "What do you want?" he asked tiredly – it really had been a long day, after all, and Blaise never troubled to get to the point unless prodded in that direction rather heavily.

"Well, isn't that charming?" Blaise got slowly to his feet, smile shifting slightly into a smirk. "I just came to see how your evening went. Though judging from your expression when you Flooed in, I'd say it fulfilled a few of those furtive schoolboy fantasies of yours."

"It went well, if that's what you're implying." Draco knew damn well exactly what Blaise was implying, but it was too late, and too near the mark for him to acknowledge at this point. "Harry and I have reached an understanding."

"Oh, _Harry_ is it now?" Blaise's smile now put Draco in mind of a predatory shark. "Should I start writing my Best Man's speech?"

"Fuck off, Blaise." Draco's eyes darted warily towards the door. "Mother hears you joking about that, I won't get a moment's peace. Now, if you don't mind, it's been a long day and I just want to get into bed. After tonight, I've got a lot of thinking to do."

"I bet you do." Blaise let out a bark of laughter. "D'you use your left or your right hand for that?"

Draco didn't dignify the comment with a response. He strode to the door and shut it firmly behind him – the slam didn't quite mask Blaise's yelp as the Stinging Hex hit its mark.

**********

Sunday lunch at the Weasleys' had been a tradition for as long as Harry could remember, and woe betide any family member who was found absent from the Burrow on such occasions. But as the family inevitably expanded, with marriage and children, and advancing years took their toll on Molly, it was a treat now reserved for special occasions. Molly had protested vociferously at the time, but it had been one of the few occasions where Arthur really stood his ground.

While Harry certainly missed the hectic fun that those gatherings offered, he had to own a slight preference for the more relaxed lunches spent at his best friends' house.

Granted, Hermione's roast might not quite reach the height's of Molly's culinary feats – not that he'd ever voice this out loud – but Harry relished the opportunity to catch up with both her and Ron, who he saw far too little of now that the careers and children took priority. Not that Harry resented Rose and Hugo – he adored both his godchildren more than he'd ever thought possible, and spoilt them rotten, much to their mother's chagrin.

So on the Sundays when St Mungo's did not demand his presence, there was nowhere Harry would rather be. Between the kids' seemingly endless excitement, Ron's gossip, and Hermione's latest Ministry crusade, Harry found that he barely had time to notice the pangs of jealousy that sometimes assaulted him when he compared their family life to his own single state.

Today, the addition of a second couple was making that a little harder.

It wasn't that Ginny was his ex – feelings of that nature had dissipated a long time ago. But she and Neville were just so comfortable together, and still in the first flush of love, that it made the pangs more noticeable than usual.

But Harry was determined not to dwell.

"Still hiding out from your mum, Gin?"

Ginny smiled wryly. "You've met Mum; what do you think?"

"She's refusing to visit the house," Neville added. "Says she won't condone it."

Ginny was still smiling, but Harry knew her well enough to see the hurt behind it. "She'll come round."

"I wouldn't bank on it," Ron said. "Not any time soon."

Ginny's smile dropped and was replaced by a look of concern. 

Harry wished he were close enough to kick Ron under the table, but instead had to settle for a glare.

"Well," Ron replied in injured tones. "It's true."

"She got over you and Hermione," Ginny pointed out.

Ron shook his head, expression stubborn. "That's different. I'm a bloke."

" _Ronald Weasley_!" Judging from her shrill tones, Hermione had clearly heard her husband from the kitchen.

Ron flushed, but remained unbowed. "It's true. You're not just _a_ girl, you're _the_ girl. You know what Mum's like. I bet she's been planning your wedding since before you were born – however much of a tomboy you turned out to be."

The conversation lulled for a moment as Hermione entered the room, plates in hand. Harry couldn't help but be grateful for the interruption – Ginny's expression showed her temper wasn't far behind.

The respite was brief though. No sooner had Hermione set a plate down in front of Ron than he leant back in his chair and continued.

"Then you go and shack up with some bloke – no offence, Nev."

Neville smiled, but wisely remained silent.

"And announce you have no intention of getting married." Ron picked up his cutlery and gestured with his knife. "Did you really think she would just smile and be happy for you?"

The pause that followed was awkward at best. Harry had no idea what to say in response, but at least Ron's attention was now turned to his food instead of pronouncements of truth.

Hermione, at least, appeared untroubled by the situation. She placed the final plate on the table and took her seat. "So, how's the new flat? All settled in?"

Harry felt as relieved as Ginny looked at the change of topic.

"It's perfect, isn't it Nev?" Ginny gushed. "It couldn't be better if I'd designed it myself."

"You did, sort of," Neville said. "Well, you and Malfoy's pensieve."

Ginny nodded. "True. You know, I never thought I'd say it, but that bloke's a genius."

Ron snorted loudly, but fortunately his mouth was too busy chewing for speech.

"How are you getting on?" Ginny opted to ignore her brother and focussed her attention on Harry. "I hear you've been to see him. Found your dream home yet?"

"I'd have to know what it was first," Harry admitted ruefully. "We're still working on it."

"But didn't Malfoy..." Ginny gestured vaguely at her temple with a finger.

Harry shook his head firmly. "No. I didn't want him to. There's little enough private about my life as it is – I don't want anyone messing around in my thoughts."

"Don't blame you." Ron had finally swallowed at last. "How'd the little twerp take it when you told him that?"

" _Draco_ understood," Harry said pointedly. "We're working around it."

"How?" Neville voiced the question Harry really didn’t want to answer.

Hermione saved him the trouble. "They went on a date!"

There was a flurry of loud exclamations in the wake of Hermione's pronouncement. Harry, for his part, fixed her with a glare. "We did not."

"That's not what Pansy Parkinson told me." Hermione at least had the grace to look bashful. "She told me Draco took you out for dinner."

"To discuss business. It was the only time I was free last week with my shifts the way they are. And since when have you and Pansy Parkinson been friends?"

Judging from the expression on his face, it seemed Ron was rather keen to know the answer to this question as well.

Hermione, true to form, remained unfazed. "She works at the Ministry – we bump into each other from time to time. She's not that bad."

Harry raised one eyebrow in reply – something he suspected he was picking up from Draco.

It was the wrong move to make, apparently, because Hermione bristled visibly. "What, so it's okay for you to pal up with Blaise Zabini, and now _Draco_ , but Merlin forbid I should give Pansy the time of day?" She stabbed rather forcefully at her roast potatoes before adding, "She did a lot less than Malfoy."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, and he was. Of all their friends, he had been the one to spout off most about _second chances_ after the war. "I just... the last thing I want is the _Prophet_ printing a rumour like that. Somehow I don't think Astoria Greengrass would be very pleased."

"Who?" Ron's speech was vaguely recognisable around the mouthful of beef he was chewing.

"Ah, but would Malfoy, that's the question," Ginny asked, with scant regard for her brother's question. "Because we already know _you're_ not averse to what's in his trousers."

Harry dropped his cutlery with a _clink_. "Can we stop this, please? I do not fancy Draco." Then, before Ginny could dispute this, as her expression clearly said she was about to, Harry added, "He has a girlfriend. They're on the verge of living together, by all accounts. Besides, you're on the verge of giving your brother a stroke."

One look at Ron's face bore out the truth of Harry's words. 

"Never mind Ron," Ginny said impatiently. "I want to hear about you and Malfoy."

"Me too." Hermione leant forward, a gleam of interest in her eyes. "I always did wonder about you two in school."

Ginny nodded sagely. "All that pigtail pulling," she said, before sharing a _look_ with Hermione.

Harry spluttered into his wine. "There were _no_ pigtails," he said, placing the glass on the table with rather more force than necessary. 

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. You know we fully support your sexuality."

Harry could feel the flush burning its way across his face. He looked to Ron for support, but Ron was currently bright red himself and apparently on the verge of choking. One look at Neville told Harry no help would be forthcoming from that quarter either – he looked as intrigued by the situation as both the girls did.

In the end Harry just shook his head. "Can I eat my dinner in peace, please?"

"Of course you can." Hermione reached over the table and patted Harry's hand gently. "And you know, if you ever wanted to bring Draco with you, as a _friend_ , then you only have to say."

Harry picked up his cutlery and focussed on his dinner. It took a lot to ignore the girls' giggling, Ron's groans of horror, and the very real temptation to bang his head against the table, but he concentrated on chewing his beef and decidedly not thinking about those snug grey trousers Draco had on last time they met up.

**********

Draco usually avoided St Mungo's as a rule. He'd spent far too much time there watching his father fade away for him to ever be truly at ease within its walls.

But today he had matters of business to attend to, so personal issues had to be put to one side. Besides, work was beginning to become intolerable given Astoria's current behaviour, and if he came across one more wedding magazine _casually_ lying about the office, he was likely to explode – and say things his mother would make him regret later.

He stepped into the first available lift and headed up to the fourth floor. When the doors opened and he strode out, Draco spotted a familiar figure dressed in lime green robes. He'd always rather liked Padma Patil, apart from that one weak moment of Weasley-dating in fourth year.

Shaking his head to remove the smell of disinfectant and death that clung to the insides of his nostrils, Draco made his way over to the desk.

He was greeted almost instantly with narrowed eyes and suspicion. 

"Malfoy." Padma's tone was as cool and aloof as he remembered. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm here to see Harry." He couldn't help but relish the look of surprise his words created.

"Harry," she repeated almost incredulously. "Harry Potter?"

"Yes, the one and only."

Eyes narrowed further. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No." Draco carefully tugged off his gloves as he spoke. "I have a matter of business to discuss with him. I was given to understand he was due for a break shortly."

There was a silent pause before her eyes widened and the suspicion receded a little. "Oh yes, he said you were helping him to buy a house. Any luck yet?"

"I'm afraid that's confidential." It wasn't as such, in that Draco really wasn't bound by any sort of confidentiality clause, but he enjoyed the expression on her face too much to resist. "Now, if you could just let Harry know that I'm here?"

"Do I look like a receptionist to you?" She indicated her robes with a flourish of her right hand, but Draco looked pointedly at the desk she stood behind, marked _reception_.

A huff of irritation and a look of dislike followed before Padma relented. "Healer Potter has just gone on lunch. If you hurry you should be able to catch him."

Having garnered the information he wanted, Draco felt he could afford a little graciousness. "Thank you, _Healer_ Patil," he said, and followed it up with a half-bow.

Padma proved correct in her assertions, and it took Draco only a short time before he saw Harry's familiar figure up ahead.  
"Potter! Hold up a minute!"

Harry came to a halt and watched with surprised expression as Draco approached. "What happened to Harry?" he asked.

"Old habits die hard," Draco replied. And it was true. He might have been using the name Harry in his head for the last few weeks now, but it would take a while before fourteen years of _Potter_ were eradicated.

"True," Harry agreed with a smile. Then, after a moment's silence, he said, "Draco, what are you doing here?"

"Oh." Draco had lost himself for a moment admiring the figure that a dishevelled Harry Potter cut in scrubs, even if they were lime green. "I thought we could talk houses over lunch, if you've got time."

"I haven't got long," Harry said, as he cast a rueful glance in the direction they'd just come. "I've got a patient under a stasis charm at the moment, and I don't like to leave them."

Draco watched as Harry rolled his shoulders, evidently trying to work out some knots. Draco's fingers itched to help him with that, but he was fairly sure they weren't at _that_ point in their friendship yet. "You look exhausted," he said instead. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Sleep? Chance'd be a fine thing," Harry replied. "You find me somewhere with a nice comfy bed and I'll be happy."

Draco thought instantly of one such place, but suspected that _his_ bed at the Manor wasn't quite what Harry had in mind. So he held his tongue and followed Harry through the hospital's sanitised corridors. 

The canteen had obviously been modernised since his last visit. The hideous Formica chairs and tables of his memory had been replaced with more appealing wooden ones. But the smells took him right back to the bleak days of his father's illness, and Draco made a mental note to eat as little as possible.

After no discernible selection process, Harry grabbed a pre-packaged sandwich off the display. "Take my advice," he said, turning back to face Draco. "Steer clear of the stew. Me and Blaise have been trying for months to work out what's in it, but I think we're probably best off not knowing."

"Thanks for the tip." Draco eyed the food on offer warily, before following suit and selecting a sandwich – he figured they would present the least potential danger.

They shuffled their way along the counter to the till. "I'll get these," Draco said, taking Harry's from his hands. "My treat."

"Thanks." Harry turned away as he spoke, but Draco fancied he saw the faintest colour on his cheeks.

Harry sank into a chair at the nearest vacant table – the way he slumped screamed exhaustion to Draco, but he decided against mentioning it again. It did little good to suggest sleep when Harry was still midway through a sixteen-hour shift.

"So," Draco began, as he carefully undid the wrapper on his food. "Have you had any more thoughts?"

His timing wasn't the greatest, as Harry had just crammed a large bit of sandwich into his mouth. "No one's going to steal it, you know," Draco teased.

Swallowing hard, Harry nodded at the nearby clock. "No time to eat slowly."

Draco bit back numerous comments about indigestion and simply said, "So did you manage to look at those details I owled you?"

Harry nodded, chewing furiously. "I did. I just don't know, though. There were bits I liked about all of them, but there was always something that put me off." He sighed and raked one hand through his already unruly hair. "I just wish I knew what I was looking for."

Draco nodded sympathetically. Truth be told, he was starting to get a little concerned about their lack of success. "Have a look at these," he said, as he slid a small leather case across the table.

"What are they?" Harry's brow creased with uncertainty.

"Properties I went to look at earlier," Draco explained, as he poked warily at his sandwich. "I haven't had time to get the details made up yet, but I wanted you to have a look at them first. See if anything grabs your fancy." Draco dragged his attention away from his food and finished up with a smile at Harry. "You have your own Pensieve, don't you?"

"You're giving me your memories?" Harry's eyes widened noticeably behind his glasses as he spoke. He reached out to take the case, his fingers curling around the leather, brushing Draco's as they did so.

A thrill ran through him at the touch of skin on skin, and it took all of Draco's self-control not to show it. "It's only a few houses," he said. "Nothing to get too excited about."

From the look on Harry's face as they held eye contact, he clearly disagreed.

"Well, isn't this fortuitous. My two favourite people." There was a loud scrape as Blaise pulled out a chair and interrupted what Draco had officially termed _a moment_.

He glared at the new arrival. "I wouldn't let Pansy hear you say that."

Blaise gave a dismissive wave of his hand as he turned the chair around and straddled it. "What she doesn't know —"

"Won't get your balls hexed off," Draco finished for him.

"Exactly." Blaise looked between Draco and Harry, a toothy grin on his face. "So, to what do we owe the honour of you slumming it in our canteen?"

Draco scowled in response and added, "I came to see Harry."

"Ah, yes." Blaise turned his amused expression on Harry. "How goes the house hunting?"

Harry paused mid-bite. "No luck so far."

"Really?" Blaise raised one eyebrow. "You must be losing your touch, Draco."

"No, it's all me, really." Draco was heartened by Harry's rush to defend him. "He's actually being very patient with me."

"Oh, I'm sure he is." 

Draco resisted the very real temptation to kick Blaise under the table. He settled, instead, for praying the insinuation in his friend's tone had gone over Harry's head.

" _Emergency call for Healer Potter. Please report to Spell Damage immediately._ "

The loud _Sonorus_ filled the canteen and was swiftly followed by the sound of Harry's chair scraping back across the floor.

"I've got to go," he said, somewhat redundantly, before picking the case up off the table. "I'll owl you about these."

"Okay. Or you could Floo me; I'll be home. Whichever is easier." Draco spoke with nonchalance he most definitely not feel, especially not with Blaise watching his every move like a hawk.

Harry seemed to remain oblivious to this. "Okay, good idea." He flashed a quick smile. "See you later, Blaise." Then, after a swift grab for the remains of his sandwich, Harry was gone.

Blaise was still there though, and currently displaying more teeth than a crocodile lining up his dinner. "Well —"

"Don't start." 

"Start what?" 

Draco knew his friend's fake innocent act of old and just gave him a _look_

"Fine." Blaise held up his hands in a placating manner. "But you can't blame me. It's not every day I see you and Harry Potter all cosied up together. Although, it is becoming a rather more common occurrence if Pansy is to be believed."

It occurred to Draco that one day he really ought to remember that Pansy told Blaise _everything_. "It's just business. You know that."

Blaise's attention though was currently on the uneaten sandwich in front of Draco. "You eating that?" he asked hopefully.

"Be my guest." Draco pushed the plate towards him – he'd really only bought it because Harry had.

"Is it really business though?" Blaise asked after swallowing a mouthful of ham and cheese. "Or is there a chance you're milking this for an excuse to spend time with him?"

Draco prayed silently for the next mouthful to choke Blaise. "Why would I do that?"

It was Blaise's turn to employ the _look_ now.

Draco flushed. Thanks to Pansy's inability to keep secrets, and his own inability to hide his emotions, Blaise probably knew far more than he should. And if he didn't, he certainly suspected. That much was evident. "It's business," Draco repeated firmly.

Blaise chewed his way through the next mouthful, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Shame, that," he mused. "You look good together."

That was the kind of thought Draco couldn't allow to take root. "I'm sure he'll look even better with the future Mrs Potter."

"Who says it has to be a Mrs?"

Draco cast a quick look round to make sure no one was sitting too near. This really wasn't a conversation he wanted anyone to overhear him having. "Other than the fact he's straight?"

Blaise frowned at him for a moment, before it cleared into a smile. "Harry's bi. I thought you knew that. I thought _everyone_ knew that."

A sudden rush of possibilities filled Draco's mind unbidden. He tried his best not to give them pause, but it was hard to quench sudden hope.

Blaise sat watching, eating his way through the remains of Draco's lunch. The smirk on his face was entirely too smug. "So, are you still sure it's just business?"

**********

"So, what did you think of that one?"

Harry came to a halt at the end of the path and turned back to glance at the house they'd just exited. On the face of it, the house was picture-perfect. The kind of rural idyll only found on the front of chocolate boxes or Christmas cards. 

"It's very pretty," he said. And with its thatched room and rambling roses over the whitewashed walls, that was something of an understatement.

"But?"

Harry sighed quietly. He hated disappointing Draco like this. Draco was trying so hard, was spending his Sunday dragging Harry to numerous houses across the county, and all Harry could do was find fault with them.

"I don't know," he admitted reluctantly. "It just didn't feel right. I mean, the garden would be perfect for the kids to play in. But there's that stream at the bottom that might be dangerous, and all those low doorways."

"I'm not sure that would be a problem for you."

Harry was relieved to see the humour in Draco's eyes – at least he wasn't angry. "Hey!" he protested. "You're no taller than I am."

"Of course I'm not." Draco's tone said he was just humouring Harry

Harry huffed, but didn't comment on it further. "I just don't think it's right for me," he said finally. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise," Draco replied briskly. "I'd far rather you be honest with me. It's not good for my professional reputation if I set you up in a house you don't like, is it?"

"I suppose not," Harry said, but he couldn't help feeling just a little bit guilty. "So, where next?"

Draco's face broke out into a smile. "I'm glad you asked that, Harry," he said, and held out his arm. "Next is my favourite by far."

"Then lead on." Harry placed his hand on Draco's arm and braced himself for the squeeze of apparition.

When they landed, Harry was quick to look round and take in his surroundings. It took a moment for it to register, but then he recognised a nearby building. "This is where Ginny and Neville live."

"Indeed," Draco agreed. "The Weaselette does live in this complex."

Harry shot Draco a warning glance at the use of the nickname, but Draco either didn't notice or chose to ignore.

"However," he continued, "they live much closer to the Diagon Alley entrance. The one I want to show you is here." He swept his hand in the direction of the building behind with a flourish.

Harry followed him inside – given the lack of success they'd had so far, he didn't hold out much hope that this one would be different, but Draco seemed excited by the prospect.

The reception area was smart, all red carpet and dark brick. A man stood behind a polished desk eyeing them expectantly. Draco strode over and had a word, while Harry couldn't help but wonder what kind of block of flats had a reception?

They entered the lift and Draco punched in a code that enabled them to access the top floor. After a journey that made Harry's ears almost pop at the speed of it, the lift _pinged_ and the doors opened onto a polished hallway. As he stepped out of the lift and looked both ways, Harry realised they were already inside the flat, and that it was _enormous_.

Draco guided them right into a bright, large room with wooden floors and a wall of glass at one side that slid back to give entrance to the terrace beyond. Harry turned to Draco, eyes wide.

"Can we go out there?" 

"Of course." Draco smiled and then gestured forward.

Harry followed him, and within moments they were out in the bracing spring air – the wind a little stronger now they were many floors up – looking out over the whole of wizarding London and beyond into the Muggle world. 

"This view is amazing," he said breathlessly.

"As is the rest of the building," Draco assured him. "Come."

After looking round three bedrooms, each as large and as stylish as the last, the modern, open-plan living area, and the lavish en-suite bathrooms, Harry started to feel overwhelmed. He could see why Draco was so enamoured of the place – it was perfect for him – but Harry wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't always feel like he didn't quite belong.

The small study, complete with library shelves was a point in its favour, as was the large terrace, but Harry couldn't decide if they would be enough.

Draco was walking slowly through the rooms, his love for the property evident on every inch of his face, and Harry was simply dreading the moment when he would turn to him and ask,

"So, what do you think then?"

Harry didn't even need to answer though. Draco had, apparently, seen the expression on his face enough times by now to know what it meant. "I'm sorry," he muttered, head hung.

"Don't." Draco placed one hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Come on, let's go."

"It _was_ nice," Harry offered as they entered the lift. "And that view was brilliant. Think you could fly off there?" Harry smiled hopefully at Draco, seeking assurance he wasn't annoyed.

" _You_ could fly off anywhere, Harry." Draco pressed the button and the lift began its descent. "And it would be great for outdoor entertaining."

"But what about the kids? I'm not sure Hermione would be happy if one of her children fell off it."

"Indeed." The doors opened and Draco led the way back out into the fresh air. "But there is an invisible shield around each balcony, so while you'd be able to fly up and away on your broom, nothing would be able to drop – children included."

Harry faltered a little as Draco dismantled his best objection. Truth was, there was no real reason he didn't like the flat. Yes, it was lavish, but Harry knew he would get used to that – and with the hours he worked it wasn't like he'd spend excessive amounts of time there. It just seemed that his brain was determined to object, irrationally or otherwise, to every single property Draco showed him.

It was like fate had determined he should remain in his poky little flat forever.

"I just don't know," he admitted finally. "There's no reason why I shouldn't like it, or any of the others for that matter, but..." Harry tailed off with a shrug.

"Buying a house is a lot like falling in love," Draco said after a moment. "You just know when you find the right one. So don't apologise, or feel guilty, or whatever silly emotion your currently indulging it. We'll find you somewhere to live."

"I wish I was as confident as you sounded."

"It's my job," Draco said. He slung one arm around Harry's shoulder. "Now cheer up," he instructed. "It's not the end of the world – we'll just have to work a bit harder at this."

Harry took a moment to revel in the warmth of Draco's arm around him, and wished he was able to lean into the touch. He had a feeling he wouldn't mind where he lived if he could wake up to Draco every day.


	3. Part Three

"You did what? Are you crazy?"

"Ron, you're not helping." Hermione glared at her husband even as she made cooing noises to the fussing child in her arms. "And you're upsetting Hugo."

"But Hermione," Ron whinged. "Didn't you hear what he just said?"

"I'm not deaf. Although I might be if you keep yelling in this manner." She paused then for a moment and shifted her attention back to Harry. "Go on," she prodded.

"Well, that's it really," Harry answered. "I had a few too many Firewhiskies and asked Draco to move in with me."

"It most certainly isn't it." Hermione's tone was brisk and forceful and led Harry to wonder if she'd been taking lessons off Molly. "You can tell me what Malfoy said in return for starters."

_"That's_ what you're worried about?" Ron's tone was softer but was still laced with incredulity. "How about you start checking him for mind control spells?"

"I suspect the only mind-controlling substance at work in this has already worked its way out of Harry's system. Especially if his hangover is anything to go by."

"Still," Ron persisted. "It's not normal behaviour, is it?"

"Why not?" Harry bristled at the implication of Ron's words. "He wants to move out and so do I. So I asked him if he wanted to share a flat. What's not normal about that?"

Ron floundered for a moment. "You're both a bit old to be sharing with someone, aren't you?"

"You share with Hermione."

Ron choked on his tea. "That's different," he protested. "Me and Hermione are married. You and Malfoy aren't... together. Are you?" This last was asked with more than a hint of alarm.

"No, we're not _together_. But what difference does that make? Are you saying that single people are basically doomed to live alone unless they can find someone to marry them?"

"Of course he's not, are you, Ron?" Hermione said, as she shifted Hugo from one shoulder to the other. "Not if he knows what's good for him," she added, and shared a conspiratorial grin with Harry.

"Fine," Ron said with a huff. "You can live with whoever you want. But you're not telling me," he pointed forcefully in his wife's direction, "that you don't find it a little bit odd that his first choice was Malfoy."

Hermione did nothing of the sort. Instead, she held out their small son in Ron's direction. "I think Hugo's ready to be changed. Would you take care of it, please, while I talk to Harry?"

Ron looked like he wanted to refuse, but then Hugo held out his hands to his daddy and everything else was forgotten.

"Right," Hermione said as Ron's footsteps echoed up the stairs. "Now tell me what Malfoy said when you asked him."

Now that Hermione's attention was solely fixed on him, Harry half wished Ron was still there – loud overreactions and all. But he'd learnt the trick with Hermione was to get confessions over with quickly, like ripping off a plaster. The longer you left it, the harder she dug, and the more painful it was for all involved.

"Nothing," he admitted finally. 

Hermione sat back a little in suspires. "You asked Draco Malfoy to move in with you. Yes, yes," she added as Harry opened his mouth to protest, "In a purely platonic way, I know. And you're telling me he sat there and said nothing? Did you hex him first?"

"No, of course not. And he didn't say nothing so much as he just didn't answer the question."

"So he's thinking about it?"

Harry shrugged, because he really wasn't sure. "He said to ask him again tomorrow if i was serious."

"And?" Hermione prodded when the silence dragged on. 

"And what?" Harry stirred sugar into his tea, more from a desire for something to do than a need for sweetness.

Hermione sighed in the long-suffering way that Harry knew she reserved especially for him and Ron. "Well, it may have escaped your notice, but it's already tomorrow."

"I know," Harry said, eyes still focused on his drink rather than his friend.

"And have you owled him? Flooed? Been round?" There was a very noticeable impatience creeping into Hermione's tone now.

"No." Harry shook his head and set his tea spoon down on the saucer with a _clink_. "It's not that I've changed my mind, but I just don't know if I can do it again. I had a lot of Dutch courage in me last night, if you know what I mean."

"Harry," Hermione reached over and patted his shoulder gently. "I can _smell_ what you mean. But seriously, you have to ask yourself if this is what you really want, and if it is —"

"What?"

"Then deal with it," Hermione replied succinctly. "Be a man and ask him again. It's not like you're asking him to shack up with you. Are you?"

"No!" Harry's reply was hasty and just a little bit short of convincing.

Hermione's expression softened. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked. 

"Why not?" Harry asked, suddenly defensive.

"Look," Hermione took hold of Harry's hands with her own and held them gently. "I know you have feelings for Draco; I'm not blind. I just want you to be sure you're doing this for the right reasons. The last thing I want is you getting hurt."

"I won't." Harry glanced down at their hands and smiled softly – whatever her faults, Hermione was a true friend. "Look, I appreciate the concern, and I'm not saying you're wrong about Draco. But I'm not going to pine away over some straight bloke I can never have. I promise."

"Are you absolutely sure he's straight?" Hermione's brow wrinkled slightly. "I know he's supposedly dating Astoria Greengrass, and then there was that whole thing with him and Pansy Parkinson at Hogwarts, but I've heard rumours. And Pansy's made one or two comments in passing that have made me think."

"He has a girlfriend, Hermione. How much more straight do you want him to be?"

" _You've_ had girlfriends," Hermione said, and Harry was forced to concede she had a point.

"Fine. But I've also had boyfriends. And as far as both you and I know, Draco never has, so just leave it, please?"

"Harry," Hermione squeezed his hands, "I didn't mean to upset you. I just —"

"I know. But I'm doing my best to concentrate on being _just good friends_ \- giving me false hope like that isn't helping."

"Fine, I won't mention it again." She pulled her hands back across the table and curled them around her teacup. "So are you going to ask him again?"

Harry thought about how lonely he was, even in that pokey flat. Then he thought of Draco - the conversations, things they had in common, how well they got along - and he couldn't work out why he even needed to think about it.

"Yes," he said decidedly. "I am."

"Good for you." Hermione beamed at him like a proud mother."Go on then," she said, making a shooing motion with her hands.

"What, now?" 

"No time like the present." Hermione got to her feet so Harry had no choice but to follow.

_Like ripping off a plaster,_ he coached himself silently, then prayed it would work.

With a hand on the small of his back, Hermione guided him over to the fireplace and offered him the ornate bowl of Floo powder.

"Good luck," she said as Harry stepped towards the grate. "And Harry, about that thing that we're not talking about any more – you should at least think about asking Blaise. He'd know."

Harry rolled his eyes – she really couldn't help herself. "Goodbye, Hermione," he said, before tossing a handful of powder into the flames. As the crackled green, he took a deep breath, stepped into them and spoke "Malfoy Manor" with a calmness he definitely didn't feel.

**********

"How's your mum taking it?"

Draco grimaced as he busily resized packing boxes. 

"Oh, like that, is it?" Harry set a particularly large box down on the floor and wondered why _he_ hadn't had the forethought to shrink them.

"It's not so much what she's saying," Draco said as he opened the box in front of him with a flick of his wand. "It's the way she _doesn't_ say it that's the problem."

"Oh." Harry sank down onto the sofa, the plastic covers crinkling loudly under him. "I thought she liked me now."

"I'm not saying that she doesn't," Draco replied. "It's not you as such – although the fact that I'm moving in with another man is probably part of it. She just has problems letting go." Draco perched on the arm of the sofa for a moment. "Up until the last few weeks she was under the illusion I was going to marry Astoria, and we would live in the Manor raising a Weasley-esque brood of blond-haired pure-bloods. It'll take her a while to get used to this." Draco gestured around them with a wave of his hand.

Harry seemed a little mollified by the explanation, so Draco gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Now, come on, Slacker. There's rather a lot of work to be done, and you're definitely the muscles of this operation."

A whooshing noise from the Floo interrupted any further conversation, and after what appeared like a tussle in the grate, both Blaise and Ron appeared, bearing numerous bags and cartons. Seconds later they were followed by Hermione and Pansy.

Ron let out a whistle as he took in his surroundings. "This is a bit fancy, mate. That flat of yours'd fit in here a hundred times over."

"And the rest," Blaise added.

"It's beautiful," Hermione said. She placed her box on the floor and crossed over to the open-plan kitchen. "These worktops are exquisite," she added, trailing her hand over the polished surface.

Pansy for her part was eyeballing the two men on the sofa. "I hope you two don't think you're sitting on your arses all day while we do all the hard work."

Draco chuckled as he got to his feet. "That's the first time I've ever heard _hard work_ used in a sentence that includes you."

"Oh really?" Pansy dropped her box on the floor with a crash that made Draco wince, and worry extensively for the contents. "Well, keep on like that and I won't be doing _any_ work. And I'll be taking Blaise with me."

"We're up," Harry said, getting to his feet.

"Good," Hermione said, while Pansy settled for glaring at Draco. "How about you two start sorting things out in here, and we'll get all these put in the right rooms." She gestured at the pile of now-resized boxes at their feet. 

"Have you got —?"

"Yes, I've got the plan." Hermione waved the aforementioned _plan_ in Draco's direction. "Don't worry; we know what we're doing." Then, at Draco's sceptical look, she added, " _I_ know what I'm doing."

Realising that this was the best he was going to get, Draco relented with a nod. He watched for a moment as their friends trooped from the room, levitating a variety of boxes in front of them, and then turned back to Harry. "Right then, Potter, let's get you to work."

Harry raised his hand in mock salute. "Yes, sir. Where do you want me?"

Draco paused a moment before replying, because he figured that _naked and spread out on my bed_ was not the answer the occasion called for. It didn't make it any less true, but he went for the safer option of "in the kitchen" instead.

Most of the kitchenware had come from Harry's flat, and Draco struggled to keep his expression in check when faced with it. Granted he hadn't done much in the way of cooking at the manor, but he'd seen the immaculate pots and pans that the house elves took such pride in, and they bore little resemblance to the somewhat battered objects Harry was unpacking.

As it transpired, this was one of those occasions where he wasn't hiding his feelings nearly as well as he thought he was. After hanging a particularly ancient-looking frying pan from the rack, Harry turned to face him with a rueful smile. 

"We should probably replace most of this," he said with a gesture around them. "I almost did it before we moved, but I thought we should choose the new stuff together."

There had been a couple of moments like this, where Harry was sweet and considerate and talked about them as if they were actually a couple, that Draco questioned the wisdom of their decision to live together. He knew he needed to make a decision very soon – either tell Harry, make a move, or resign himself to being _just good friends_ , but being in such close proximity to Harry didn't exactly help with clear thinking.

"Maybe we could go into Diagon Alley later?" Draco suggested. "Although, I'm not sure it's a good idea to leave those four here unsupervised."

Harry grinned in response, and as if to bear out the truth in Draco's words, Pansy's strident tones soon echoed through the flat.

"Weasley, you mindless oaf! Watch where you're going."

Ron's reply was somewhat more muffed, but he was quite obviously responding in kind. Harry set the last box down on the worktop and turned to Draco. "I'd better go and check on them."

Draco opened his mouth to point out that they were grown adults, and anyway, Hermione was at least sensible, but a loud crash stopped the words in their tracks. "Go," he said, giving Harry a gentle shove. "Gag your friend. And if that's Pansy breaking things, put her in a body bind before she gets too carried away."

A couple of hours and much grumbling later, the vast majority of their boxes had been unpacked. Ron and Pansy had settled into an uneasy detente, largely facilitated by threats of Hermione's wand, and Harry looked happier and more content than Draco had ever seen him before.

"Can you believe this is ours?" Harry asked quietly as they settled the coffee table into place. 

Draco straightened up and looked around them. He'd been taken with the flat from the moment he'd first laid eyes on it – truth be told, he'd shown Harry round more from a desire to see inside himself than any real belief that it would suit Harry's needs. "You're sure you like it?" he asked, struck by a moment's uncertainty. It was a ridiculous time to ask, given that they'd already signed on the dotted line, but he needed to know.

"I'm sure." Harry stepped closer and placed one hand on Draco's upper arm. "I told you, all I wanted was somewhere to put a nice comfy bed – and I have that now. Plus, I got you as a bonus as well, so what's not to like?"

It was another one of those moments where Harry's total lack of artifice left Draco at a loss for words. What could he possibly say in response to that? For the first time in his life, Draco found himself indebted to Ron Weasley.

"Harry!" Weasley's voice was somewhat muffled by the jumper he was pulling over his head. Such was Draco's gratitude that he didn't even comment on the hideousness of it. "Me and Hermione are getting off now. Got to pick the kids up from Mum's."

Hermione appeared at that moment, and the wildness of her hair tested Draco's tongue-biting to the extreme – but he managed it.

"Thank you for your help. Both of you." Draco suspected there were generations of Malfoys turning over in their graves at those words. But times had changed, and considering he was now living with Harry Potter, so had he. "You'll have to come round for dinner soon."

"That would be lovely, Malfoy. Wouldn't it, Ron?"

Hermione nudged her husband's arm rather forcefully, but it seemed that Weasley's horror at the prospect rather matched Draco's own. But then he caught sight of the beaming smile on Harry's face, and Draco realised with a sinking feeling that it would likely be the first of many such gatherings. Somewhere along the way, putting that look on Harry's face had become a priority to him. Draco wasn't sure when it had happened, or how, but he rather thought fighting it would be a losing battle.

No sooner had Weasley and Granger departed – he still struggled to think of her as anything else but – than Pansy and Blaise appeared to make their excuses.

"We'd love to stay longer and help you out," Pansy said. "But frankly the thought of any more manual labour is bringing me out in a rash."

Draco couldn't help but smile at her blunt honesty – Pansy was one area of his life he knew would _never_ change. 

Blaise stepped forward at that point and placed a bottle of champagne into each of Draco's hands. "A little house-warming present from both of us."

Draco rather thought it was a house-warming present from Blaise's mother's wine cellar – but it would be churlish of him to refuse. And it was only appropriate that he and Harry christen their new home.

"Thanks, Blaise." Harry still had that wide grin on his face. "You too, Pansy. We'd still be surrounded by boxes if it wasn't for your help."

Pansy appeared rather gratified. "See," she said, jabbing her finger in Draco's direction. "That's how you show gratitude. You could stand to learn some manners from this one." She nodded at Harry as she finished.

Before Draco could come up with the perfect rebuttal, Blaise had his hand on Pansy's arm and was steering her towards the fireplace. "We'll leave you two in peace now," he said over his shoulder. "Why don't you pop that champagne and _christen your new home_."

Draco could only hope that Harry had missed the rather overemphasis Blaise put on those last words. Pansy clearly hadn't, if her sniggering was anything to go by. And the wink that Blaise gave as he stopped into the Floo could hardly be misunderstood either. But Harry didn’t look anything other than happy when Draco turned back to him, so he Transfigured a couple of chipped mugs into champagne flutes and decided to go with the flow.

**********

Draco was on his knees rifling through the kitchen cupboards when the Floo chimed. He startled, pulled back, and cracked his head on the frame in the process.

"Fuck!" He clamped one hand to his throbbing skull and continued to swear under his breath.

The silent oaths increased exponentially when Blaise's grinning face appeared over the side of the worktop. "All right, Draco?"

"What do you think?" Draco was about to get up when he spotted it – right at the back of the cupboard. He grabbed the colander with a triumphant exclamation and got to his feet.

"What the hell is that?" Blaise looked askance at the item in Draco's hand.

"A colander," Draco replied. And when Blaise's frown didn't lessen, he added, "It's for straining things."

"You'd be better off putting it on your head by the look of it."

Draco pulled his hand away from his scalp and scowled. "What do you want, Blaise?"

"Theo's in town visiting his mum. We're meeting him and Greg at the Leaky for a few drinks."

"Can't," Draco said, then turned to flick his wand at the stove before the bubbling pan there boiled over.

"Why not?"

"For one, it's a Monday night. I have work tomorrow, and I remember all too well what your idea of a _few drinks_ is."

Blaise remained unconvinced. "That's what we have hangover potions for. Besides, you're the boss – who's going to complain if you Owl in sick?"

"I'm busy," Draco said firmly.

"Doing what?"

Draco gestured and the numerous pots and pans surrounding him and said, "Cooking," in a tone that clearly said _are you blind?_

"Cooking." Blaise snorted – there was no other word for it. "You don't know how."

"Harry showed me a few things," Draco replied as he lifted a pan off the hob and poured its contents into the colander. "And I picked up the rest. It's not as hard as you think – following recipes is a lot like making potions."

Blaise sank onto one of the leather barstools at the counter. "Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?"

"Fuck off." But the smile on Draco's face softened the words. "You want a glass of wine?" he offered, picking a bottle up off the side and gesturing in Blaise's direction.

"I think I need it. I never thought I'd see the day you became domesticated."

Draco settled for filling a glass with rich, red liquid, and then sliding it over to his friend. "Drink this and stop complaining." And Blaise did, for a minute or two.

He watched Draco as he chopped and stirred, then turned his attention to the rest of the flat. "Looks like you've settled in properly now."

Draco followed his gaze around the flat and nodded. "We don't all still have our clothes in boxes two months later."

Blaise didn't respond to the jibe though. He was too busy staring out of the large window onto the terrace beyond. "Is that a table? You're eating outside?"

"What? Oh, yes, we do sometimes. All it needs is a little Warming Charm. Harry loves it out there."

"And are those candles?" Blaise turned back to Draco, one brow arched questioningly. 

Draco shook his head. "Fairy lights."

"Fairy what?"

Draco shrugged. "It's a Muggle thing, apparently. Granger's contribution to the decor."

"I'm surprised you allowed that."

So was Draco, truth be told, but, "Harry likes them."

Blaise had slid off his stool by now and was making his way over to the window, glass still in hand. "It all looks very romantic out there. Can I take this as a sign that you're finally going to talk to Harry about things?"

"I talk to him all the time"

"Don't be obtuse." Blaise paused and sipped his wine. "You know what I mean."

"You can't rush these things," Draco said, as he pulled plates out of the cupboard and placed them on the warming pad. "We live together now. If it goes wrong can you imagine how awkward that would be?"

"Well, you'd better do something soon. Pansy's on the verge of interfering, and you know there's no telling what she's likely to do."

Draco almost dropped the bowl of peas on the floor. "You have to stop her," he said in horrified tones.

Blaise made his way back over to the kitchen and leant on the worktop. "You're deluded if you think I have any control over her whatsoever."

Draco let out a groan, placed his peas safely on the worktop, and then swiftly emptied his own glass of wine down his neck. No sooner had he placed the glass back down than a loud beeping noise filled the room.

"Beef's done," he said, more to himself than anyone else. Then, oven gloves in place, he removed the joint and set it on the side to rest.

"Merlin, that smells good." Blaise leant forward, inhaling deeply. "Don't suppose you have room for one more?"

Draco flicked him with a tea towel. "No. And don't you have somewhere to be? Harry'll be home soon."

"Fine." Blaise drained the last of his wine. "I know when I'm not wanted." He turned and started to walk over to the fireplace, but paused halfway. "Talk to him, Draco. For all our sakes."

"I fail to see how it affects you." Draco tried to keep the irritation out of his voice – he knew Blaise was only being a friend – but this was none of his business. 

"Are you kidding? You know what Pansy's like when she gets a bee in her bonnet, and for some reason I'm taking the brunt of it. I'd actually like to have sex again before Christmas."

"Spare me the details, please," Draco replied, and held up his hands as if to ward off further overshares.

Blaise just smiled and shook his head slowly. But as the flames crackled green around him, Draco definitely heard the words, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

**********

There were times in his life when Harry Potter was forced to question the wisdom of his choices.

Like right now, for instance.

Just past twelve on a Friday night found him perched on a bar stool, bottle of some fancy, foreign lager in hand, while his Blaise tried to coax him onto the dance floor.

Which, in itself, wasn't the worst way to pass a Friday evening, but the beer was undrinkable, the pulsing music was doing little to soothe nagging headache he'd nursed all day, and Blaise was currently eyeing up every male in the establishment, apparently with the intent of propositioning them on Harry's behalf.

"What about him over there?"

Against his better judgement, Harry lifted his head up off the bar and out of his hands – he'd buried it there after Blaise had actually groped the last bloke that caught his eye, only to lay the blame firmly at Harry's feet. "Where?" he asked, regretting it the instant the words left his mouth.

"There. Look." Blaise nodded in what he clearly thought was a discreet manner. It occurred to Harry that for an ex-Slytherin, he was decidedly _un_ sneaky.

But Harry followed his direction nonetheless. If nothing else, Blaise had exacting standards, and any man or woman deemed worthy of his attention was definitely worth a second glance. This time was no exception. Harry _hmmm'd_ around the bottle as he raised it to his lips and then found his mind conjured a number of images at the action.

"Look at that arse," Blaise continued, staring unashamedly.

"Something you want to tell me?" Harry looked up at his friend, amused grin in place.

Blaise rolled his eyes in return. "What? Because I'm straight I can't comment on another bloke's arse?"

"It's not so much can't," Harry said, and cast one last glance at the arse in question. "It's more usually _don't_."

"I'm surprised at you, Harry Potter." Blaise affected outraged tones before signalling the barman to replace their drinks. "I didn't realise you were heterophobic."

Harry almost choked on the dregs of his drink. "What the hell have you been reading?"

Blaise passed a note to the barman before turning back to face Harry, lofty expression in place. "I happen to be very well-versed in matters of gender and sexuality, I'll have you know. As a man with gay friends, I felt it was only right to educate myself."

"Bi," was all Harry said in response. He'd learnt early on in their friendship not to question some of Blaise's more eccentric behaviours and statements. Trying to work out which were genuine and which were simply for effect was the quickest route to a migraine.

"Whatever." Blaise gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "My point stands. That man has an incredible arse, and _you_ should go for it."

"You know," Harry said, eyes on the dance floor now, rather than his friend. "You take what some might call an unhealthy interest in my sex life." He paused to sip at the fresh bottle of lager Blaise thrust into his hand. "Besides, what makes you so sure I'm not looking for a woman?"

"Well, you say bi, Harry, but I've never seen you show any interest in women since the littlest Weasley was on the scene. I'd say you're definitely at the higher end of the Kinsey Scale, my friend."

Harry shrugged. He had no idea what Blaise was on about now, but had more sense than to ask for clarification – nothing would delight his friend more. "I don't have time for a relationship."

Blaise paused for a moment and watched him through narrowed eyes. "Sure about that, are you?" Then placed one hand on Harry's jaw and tilted his head until he was facing the dance floor again.

The placing of Blaise's hand was fortunate indeed, because without it, Harry was pretty sure that his jaw would have hit the floor. 

There, amongst the mass of sweaty, muscled bodies was an all too familiar figure.

His shirt undone to the waist, Draco had his head tilted back and eyes closed as he moved to the rhythm of the music. 

Harry's mouth was suddenly devoid of all moisture. A voice at the back of his mind – one that sounded uncommonly like Ron – was telling him that this was clearly a parallel universe he had stumbled into. One where Draco Malfoy was semi-naked, glistening with sweat, and apparently gay, if the way he was grinding back against his dance partner was any indication.

As that thought sank in, the voice in Harry's head was suddenly drowned out by the roaring in his ears. The sight of meaty hands curled proprietarily around Draco's slim hips was more than enough to awaken the monster in Harry's chest.

He snapped his head round to face Blaise, and received a smug smile for his troubles.

"What... did you...?" Harry shook his head in an effort to clear his thoughts. But all he could manage to say was the one phrase that was echoing loudly in his brain.

"Draco's gay."

Blaise rolled his eyes, took a sip from his bottle, and then said "Finally! Someone give the boy a prize!"

Harry frowned a little and looked around them. A few bottles of beer on very little food meant Blaise wasn't making much sense. "Who are you talking to?"

Blaise laughed outright then, and ruffled Harry's hair in a manner he would have objected to if he'd thought it would make any difference. "The question you should be asking yourself is: _why_ are you still standing here talking to me?"

"Did you know he was going to be here?" Harry's gaze drifted back to the dance floor just in time to see Draco's partner licking his neck.

"Why d'you think I insisted we come here? I'm sick of watching you two moon after each other and do nothing about it."

"But Draco has a girlfriend." Harry was starting to think someone had slipped something in his drink. "What about Astoria?"

"The only person who thought Astoria was Draco's girlfriend was Astoria herself. Oh, and apparently you." Blaise shook his head slowly. "How could you not know Draco was bent? You must have the world's worst gaydar."

"I don't understand," Harry said weakly; it was too much for his tired brain to process.

"What's to understand? You like him, he likes you, you both like boys." Blaise put down his drink and placed both hands on Harry's shoulders. "If you don’t go out there now and make a move, I know hexes that will make you both wish your ancestors hadn't been born. And that's nothing compared to what Pansy will do if I have to tell her this failed."

"He likes me?" It was the only part of the conversation Harry could focus on. He'd spent so long telling himself that Draco was out of reach, admiring him from afar, that the sudden realisation of possibilities was rather terrifying.

"Yes. He likes you. A lot." He used his grip on Harry's shoulders to give him a slight shake. "Now for Merlin's sake, put us all out of our misery and do something about it.

Harry raised his drink to his mouth as his lips curved around the neck of his bottle. He tipped it back, throat working fast to swallow the liquid within. Finally empty, he set it back on the bar and got to his feet. "Wish me luck."

Whatever Blaise may have said in response, Harry didn't hear. He was too busy kicking himself mentally for being blind, oblivious, and a hundred other stupid things that had apparently prevented him from seeing what was in front of his nose. So much time wasted, but in true Gryffindor fashion, Harry was determined not to waste any more.

By no means as tall or as well built as most of the dance floor's occupants, Harry still cut an imposing enough figure that his passage through the throngs was assured. The war might have been over for some years, but there wasn't a week went by when Harry wasn't featured in a paper or magazine. While anonymity was usually something he craved, this was one occasion when Harry's notoriety came in very useful.

Draco's eyes were still closed as he approached, and the way his neck arched, bare and vulnerable, made Harry long to run his tongue over every inch of pale skin.

Stepping closer, Harry placed his hands on Draco's waist. His skin was warm and slightly damp, and the most wonderful thing Harry had ever felt.

Draco was obviously a fickle dance partner, because at the first touch of Harry's hands, he stepped forward into the touch, leaving the bloke behind scowling rather impressively. Fortunately it seemed he had no desire to fall foul of Harry Potter, and after a few tense seconds he backed off in search of someone new.

When Draco's arms draped over his shoulders and he pressed impossibly close, Harry thought he'd died and gone to heaven. But Draco's eyes were still closed, and as amazing as this was, Harry wanted, needed him to know who he was with.

So he leant forward, lips only a hair's breadth from Draco's ears.

"Open your eyes," he said softly.

Draco stilled suddenly and Harry couldn't help but wonder if this wasn't all some horrible joke. He pulled back and waited. It seemed like it took forever, and Harry chewed nervously at his bottom lip as he waited.

"Harry."

Try as he might, Harry couldn't read anything into Draco's tone. Fortunately, the way his eyes widened in surprise and the curve of his lips spoke volumes. "Hi."

Draco's grip on Harry's shoulders tightened, one hand tugging slightly at the hairs on Harry's nape. "I didn't think..."

Harry smiled sheepishly. "I don't think either of us did," he said.

"Are you sure?" 

Draco still looked uncertain, but Harry was tired of waiting. He'd spent weeks, months imaging the numerous ways this moment could play out, and he'd never been more certain of anything in his life.

So he answered Draco with actions rather than words.

Harry tightened his grip on Draco's hips, fingertips digging into the soft, warm skin, and pulled him in the final few inches until they were pressed together from chest to knee.

From that point on it became something of a blur. Harry wasn’t sure who kissed who first. All he knew was that Draco’s lips were soft and warm, and fitted perfectly against his own in a way that surely meant they belonged together. Then Draco’s hands were in his hair, and his body was pressed even closer, and Harry thought that his chest would burst at any moment, such was the force of the emotion he was feeling.   
When they finally parted, both panting slightly, it wasn't to go far. They were separated only by a matter of inches. Draco looked at Harry through lashes which were thicker and darker than Harry had imagined, and asked "D'you want to get out of here?" in a breathless voice that stole Harry's own away from him.   
Harry thought he'd have to be crazy to say no, but then it occurred to him that to leave they'd have to let go of each other, and after waiting so long to have Draco in his arms, that was something he was incredibly loath to do.

Draco seemed to understand his reluctance, because he smiled, pressed a slow soft kiss to Harry's lips, and then murmured, "Hold on tight."

It was only when Draco began to twist that Harry realised what he meant to do. The familiar sensation of Apparition squeezed every part of Harry's body, but in a matter of seconds they landed with a bump. 

A quick look around told Harry they were home – in the kitchen of their flat.

"You couldn't have aimed for one of the bedrooms?" he teased.

Draco, in turn, pushed him up against the work top and began tugging Harry's shirt up over his head. "I didn't want to presume," he murmured, before pressing warm lips against the skin of Harry's chest.

Harry let his eyes drift closed and his head loll back, and surrendered himself to the sensations Draco's mouth was creating. He was achingly hard by now, and just as he was at the point of begging, of pleading with Draco to just _touch him, please_ , Draco stopped.

Harry's head snapped forward, his eyes wide, questions on his lips. 

Draco for his part was smiling wickedly at him, the last bottle of champagne Blaise had gifted them in his hands.

"What...?" There was little blood left in Harry's brain for him to formulate complete sentences, so he just hoped Draco would get the point.

"I think we should celebrate," Draco replied, one hand slowly twisting the cork from the bottle.

What Harry wanted to say was _bugger celebrating_ and _bugger me instead_ , but then there was a loud pop, and cold fizzy liquid was spilling all over his torso. He didn't have a chance to protest before Draco was trailing his tongue through the mess he had created, lapping at Harry's skin, and paying particular attention to his nipples.

"I don't think this is quite what Blaise had in mind when he told us to christen the house," Harry all but gasped as he buried his fingers in Draco's hair.

Draco pulled back slightly, still licking his lips. "Oh, I think this is _exactly_ what he had in mind." Then his tongue was back to tracking its path down past Harry's navel, and Harry made a mental note to say thank you to Blaise at work on Monday.

The End


End file.
